


A Little Nothing

by a_hand_outstretched



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drug Abuse, F/M, Kendall remembers he has kids, Light Angst, M/M, Relationship Negotiation, Stewy Hosseini Has Feelings, kendall being not a complete sad sack, naomi pierce for girlfriend of the year award, succession characters doing sort of normal things?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:33:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 11,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26437249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_hand_outstretched/pseuds/a_hand_outstretched
Summary: Assorted Kendall/Naomi bits and pieces.
Relationships: Gerri Kellman/Roman "Romulus" Roy, Naomi Pierce/Kendall Roy, Roman "Romulus" Roy/Tabitha, Stewy Hosseini/Kendall Roy, Stewy Hosseini/Kendall Roy/Naomi Pierce
Comments: 14
Kudos: 42





	1. Tabitha's Jealous

Tabitha grabs for Naomi’s phone. “Oh my god, you _like_ him! What did he say — let me see.” 

“Stop, stop!” Naomi tries to scramble to the other side of the couch, but Tabitha’s faster and her arms are stupidly long. “Fine! You are the actual worst.” Naomi hands over her phone, which she’s barely even been looking at all evening, all she did was smile down at it _one time_ and now she has to endure an interrogation. 

Tabitha scrolls intently through Naomi’s texts, absolutely glowing with delight. Tabitha is a loyal friend, but there’s nothing she loves more than other people’s embarrassment. It’s one of the only things she and Roman have in common, as far as Naomi can tell. Always ready to rub salt in the wound before handing over the Band-Aid. “Oh my god, how often do you talk? Ahh! The dorky dad energy is absolutely off the fucking charts! What is this even, is he reading a newspaper in this one?” 

Naomi hides her face in her hands. “At least I’m getting laid.” 

“Oh, ouch!” Tabitha swats her lightly on the arm, laughing, still scrolling, “Low blow, Nay, absolutely uncalled for.” She hands back the phone, then she gives Naomi a serious look. It’s not an unfamiliar one, between them. 

“Hey, be real with me for a minute. You’re okay, right? The drinking’s okay? It’s okay if it’s not. You know you can tell me,” she pauses, widening her eyes to emphasize the point, “Because I am telling you, Nay, this man — I don’t care how good of a fuck he is — he is not worth a downward spiral.” 

Naomi appreciates it, she does, and she can’t fault the concern. She clears her throat. “No, I’m okay. Really. It’s… um… maybe not ideal, but it’s good. And I think, I don’t know, I do _like_ him, and I’m... intrigued?” 

Tabitha’s face turns skeptical. “I know I don’t have room to talk here, but, like… why?” 

“I don’t know,” Naomi sighs. “It’s like, I’ve dropped a penny in a well, and I’m waiting to hear it reach the bottom, but there’s nothing, no splash, so I’m still waiting, and the longer I wait the more I want to know what’s down there. I want to find out, even if it’s something terrible.” 

“It’s probably not rainbows and unicorns, based on my experience with this family.” 

Naomi shrugs. “He’s going through some shit, but he’s a good guy, I think. He’s sweet, and we’re having fun, we’ll see what happens.” 

She pauses and smirks at Tabitha. “Plus, I came so hard I cried last night.” 

“Oh, fuck all the way off.” 


	2. Bad Press

Naomi swirls her tea unnecessarily, comforted by the sound of the spoon scraping the china cup. It’s light in her hands, the rim decorated with tiny, impossibly detailed, wild roses. This set was inherited from a minor royal cousin somewhere, she thinks the story goes, in perfect condition except for the small chip where her thumb presses into the handle. She looks down into the Darjeeling vortex and wonders if the 19th century paint might be leaching arsenic into her bloodstream. The thought is an inadequate distraction from Nan’s disappointment. 

They are in Nan’s study. Her mother used to call it the principal’s office, way back when Naomi was a child and it wasn’t Nan’s study but her grandfather’s. Minor aesthetic updates aside, it looks the same as it did then, worn leather chairs and an intricately patterned rug under her bare feet. It feels the same, too. Nan treats her like an equal until she doesn’t — until Naomi’s summoned here like an ignorant, poorly behaved child. 

They’ve run out of pleasantries to exchange. 

“So,” Nan says, as she settles back into her armchair. “Tell me about Logan Roy’s son.” 

Naomi shrugs. “It’s nothing, Nan.” 

“It looks like something.” Nan taps her finger on the tabloid lying on the coffee table next to the tea tray. A couple of photos on page 6 — Kendall and her walking out of a club, his arm around her shoulders. They both look bad, she can tell from a glance, but she looks worse, an unflattering flash washing out everything but blown pupils and dark undereye circles, one dress strap falling down her shoulder. It’s their position that’s particularly damning in Nan’s eyes, she’s sure. It reads as possessive, with her playing the part of billionaire playboy’s coked up slut of the week. 

“He’s a friend.” 

“You know I don’t like to pry.” Nan tilts her head forward, waiting for Naomi to acknowledge this statement as true — it isn’t, of course, but she nods anyway. “And I completely respect your judgement. But my dear, to be perfectly honest, this association is… an unnecessary _distraction_ for us, at the moment.” By distraction she means embarrassment. “The last thing we need right now are rumors flying around like monkeys.” 

“Surely Pierce Global Media can survive a few more of my mistakes, at this point,” Naomi says. It comes out too bitter. Nan takes a sip of her tea. 

“Naomi. Be serious, please. We need to project stability right now. And far be it from me to question your… taste… but that _family_. Crass, ignorant, without a single shred of integrity, the whole flock of them. How can you stand it?” 

“He’s different,” she says, too quickly, and internally chides herself for sounding like a lovesick teenager. She clears her throat. “He could be… an asset, to us. Potentially. There’s resentment, between him and his father. He’s not an idiot, and he wants to get out.” 

Nan clucks her tongue. She doesn’t go for it, but she doesn’t push. Sets her cup down and stands up. Naomi understands the warning. 

“I cannot tell you how refreshed I am after being away. We’ve all been under so much stress. Have you thought about taking some time? Marjorie’s place in the Cayman’s, maybe?” 

Naomi wants to squeeze the teacup until it cracks to pieces in her hand. She wants to douse the Persian rug under her feet in gasoline and drop a match. She wants to call her cousin a cunt. She wants to excuse herself to use the bathroom so she can do a bump and text Kendall a photo of her tits. 

She smiles serenely. “You’re right. I’ll think about it.” 


	3. The Stewy Problem (Part 1)

Kendall doesn’t display many personal photographs in his home. A few 5x7’s of his children tucked on a credenza in the hallway, one of him and his father at some ceremonial opening hung in his home office. Naomi notices this, but doesn’t question it — her apartment is hardly plastered with family portraits either — until he complains that Shiv has asked him if he can dig out some specific picture of them as children on the front steps of their old house. She wants to include it in some book she’s putting together for their father, for the anniversary party. 

“Why is she asking you?” 

“A few years ago our mom was decluttering. Told us we had two weeks to collect our shit or our family photos and childhood teddy bears would be out in the rubbish bin. Roman didn’t want anything and Shiv claimed to not have space… so, as usual.” He waves a hand at himself. “I don’t know what she’s thinking, anyway. He hates that kind of thing.” 

“Too sentimental for him?” 

“Too… old. He’s not interested in the past — in his past, anyway.” 

They end up sitting on the floor together with three cardboard boxes between them. They’re still taped up, not touched since the movers dropped them off when Kendall moved in. He slices through the packing tape on the first box with a kitchen knife. It’s neatly packed with albums, boxes with loose prints, envelopes with negatives. He pulls out a few and flips through, but these are too new, mostly from when his kids were little and someone was still bothering to print digital photos. He moves on to the next box. 

Naomi pulls the rejected box over to her and idly looks through it. A small stack of loose photographs has fallen to the bottom — they must have been tucked between albums. She picks them up to look closer. Most of them are slightly worn or folded, like they were previously framed or stuck up somewhere. Two boys in baseball uniforms, smiling, arms around each other’s shoulders. Kendall standing with groomsmen on his wedding day, making an embarrassed face as the best man kisses his cheek. A vacation shot — spring break, maybe — a group poses on the beach, Kendall’s face turned away from the camera like he’s talking to the person next to him. Graduation caps. Kids swimming. A birthday party. It’s hard to miss the common element. 

She turns one to face Kendall. “What’s the deal with you two?” 

He squints at the photo, then reaches to take it from her hand. It's the birthday party one, blurry with motion as an eight-year-old Stewy attempts to smear a finger full of frosting on the birthday boy's face. Kendall smiles at it. “Stewy? He’s an old friend. We, uh, we were practically babies, when we met. You know him?” 

“I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure. Friend, present tense? Isn’t he trying to sue your ass off right now?” 

Kendall frowns. “Right. I mean, all that… it’s not really… personal. Between us. Just business. We’ll be fine, eventually.” He doesn’t sound especially convinced of his own words. “Stewy always comes around.” 

“I’ve lost friends over stolen lipstick. You guys must be close.” 

“Well, I’ve, uh, never stolen Stewy’s lipstick. But, yeah. He is actually pissed at me.” He hands the photo back to her with a sort of shrug. “It’s not like I can talk to him right now, anyway.” 

She lets him change the subject, laughs at some old shots of him holding a screaming Roman as a toddler. Eventually, she makes an excuse to leave, kisses him goodnight. When she’s home, she taps out a message to Tabitha. 

> Naomi: Stewy Hosseini??
> 
> Tabitha: 😈
> 
> Naomi: What does that mean?
> 
> Tabitha: I like him. You wouldn’t.
> 
> Tabitha: Roman calls him variations on Ken’s boy toy. But that could just be Roman-typical bs ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Tabitha: Why?
> 
> Naomi: … I don’t think it’s just Roman’s flair for dramatics… 
> 
> Tabitha: Say the word and I’ll have him killed
> 
> Naomi: Stopppp 
> 
> Tabitha: You want me to ask around about him/them?
> 
> Naomi: Yes.
> 
> Naomi: No.
> 
> Naomi: I’m a big girl I can ask him.
> 
> Tabitha: Lol good luck. I can’t even get Rome to admit he’s fucking his trainer 🙄 
> 
> Naomi: Omg Tabs no pressure but when you dump him I’m throwing a party 
> 
> Tabitha: 🙄 🙄 🙄 🙄 🙄 
> 
> Tabitha: I knowwww, leave me alone mom!
> 
> Naomi: ❤️ ❤️ ❤️


	4. The Desk

“He’s not a subtle guy, is he?” Naomi asks, inspecting the ancient soldiers’ helmets on display in Logan’s office. “Nan’s the same fucking way, only it’s busts of Athena and first edition Brontës for her.” 

The automatic lights in the central hallway had come on when they got off the elevator, but neither one of them had bothered flicking on the switch by the office door. Everything is half shadowed, the skyline glittering in the background.

Kendall doesn’t respond to her comment. He places the package of pills on the desk and then stands very still, like he’s waiting to be dismissed. He’s clearly uncomfortable. She had to beg him to bring her with him in the first place, when he told her he had to come back here tonight, and the closer they got to this office the more he seemed to shut down. What kind of power trip was Logan on now, making Kendall play nurse? It’s not like he really needs the help — he could pay the fucking chief of surgery at Mount Sinai to dole out his meds if he wanted. 

Naomi wanders over to Kendall, moving Logan’s chair out of the way so she can hop up onto the desk. 

“Ken, can you do me a favor?” She motions for him to come closer, to stand between her legs so she can wrap her arms around his neck. His motions are still a little hesitant, jerky, but he does what she wants. Naomi slides her fingers through the short hair on the back of his head. She pitches her voice low and whispers in his ear. “I need you to fuck me, right here, right now.” 

Kendall’s eyes widen and he pulls back, lips pressed together in a line — like he’s about to, what, scold her? 

Naomi lets an edge of meanness into her voice. “No? You can’t do it?” She drops one hand to squeeze his dick through his pants. He grabs her wrist but doesn't pull her hand away. “I really think you can. I think you want to, too. You’ve pictured it. Bending me over your desk, so everyone else can hear. And in here?” She can feel him getting hard. “Yeah, you want it. And I want you to do what you want.” 

“Fuck, Naomi.” His voice has gone all low and gravelly, which means she's won. 

“That’s the idea!” 

He kisses her then, in that earnest way of his that makes her feel like a monster for sometimes thinking of him as a pet project. She really does care about him, but what are you supposed to do with someone so emotionally locked down? Kendall barely seems to be the protagonist of his own life, most of the time. She gets tired of grasping at air. 

He shrugs off his jacket and she unbuttons her pants. She’s wearing an oversized sweater with nothing underneath. She pulls it up over her head and lies back across the desk. 

“Jesus. Fuck.” Kendall leans over her, kissing her again as he brushes his thumb over a nipple and runs a hand down her side. He tucks his face into the crook of her neck and mumbles against her skin, “Is this the whole reason you wanted to come with me?” 

Naomi laughs. “You know what, I’m just going to do this myself.” She slips a hand into her underwear, but Kendall quickly catches it and moves it away. He tugs her jeans down her thighs and strokes her over the fabric, making her squirm. 

“You’re just impatient.” He takes his time removing them, touching her slowly, light and teasing. 

“Bastard,” she whines. He smirks at her. 

She eggs him on, exaggerating her reactions and being louder than necessary, happy to perform if it means the next time he’s in this room she’s all he can think about. He kisses her ribs as he pushes two fingers inside her, the heel of his hand pressing against her. She clenches around his fingers and pulls him up for a kiss that’s more like a bite. She sucks on his bottom lip until it’s swollen, then reaches up and puts a hand on his cheek. He feels solid under her fingertips. 

Just when things are getting good, he pulls his hand away. Naomi wraps her legs around his waist to bring him closer as he fumbles with his zipper. She reaches to grip the edge of the desk and accidentally knocks something off, hears it hit the ground and crack. She hopes it’s something Logan will miss. 


	5. Vintage Mental Illness

She usually doesn’t have this good of a time on ketamine. She’s laughing so hard she can’t breathe, alternately watching the phone screen and turning to hide her face against Kendall’s shoulder. He’s just whispering “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God,” stuck on a loop, groaning every time she reaches to hit replay on Connor’s latest campaign video but refusing to put down the phone. It gets funnier every time, until she accidentally swipes her finger and the video comments pop up. She sees one too many #Roy2020 #ConHeadsUnite hashtags and shrieks, rips the phone out of Kendall’s hands, and launches it across the bedroom. 

It’s his turn to laugh as she lies down flat on the bed and stares up at the ceiling, mock-distraught. “You’re going to stop him, right? Someone’s going to stop this?” 

Kendall shrugs and plays with a chunk of her hair. “Probably. Maybe. Dad usually pulls the plug on his more embarrassing ventures.” 

“What even happened there?”

“Connor’s always been… Connor. I don’t know. He wasn’t around much when we were kids. Not until his mom lost it.” 

“What does that mean?” 

He looks down at her. “Tried to burn down their house. Twice. Dad got her committed.” 

Naomi hums and thinks about that for a while. Kendall’s running a hand through her hair now, and she closes her eyes to try and enjoy the repetitive motion. But she’s not really having fun anymore, the high dissipated. “Wanna know a Pierce family secret?” she asks. 

“Better be fucking juicy to make up for breaking my phone.” 

She rolls her eyes. “My grandma,” she puts a finger to her temple, turns it like a screw. “Lobotomy.” 

Kendall winces. He stops petting her. “Fuck. Why?” 

Naomi shrugs. “Classic vintage mental illness shit. Woman not fit for high class housewifery. Postpartum depression, maybe bipolar disorder. Bitched too much about Landon’s affairs, probably. In and out of institutions. She was still around when I was a kid, but I never really knew her, obviously. No one talked about it. My dad told people she was dead.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

Naomi rolls over so she’s halfway on top of him. She rests her chin on his chest and looks up at him. “Did you know I’m bipolar?” she asks. 

“Uh-oh,” he says, smiling. He taps her forehead. “We’ll have to take care of that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S3: Kendall, Naomi, and Greg listen to TSwift's mad woman and have a group cry


	6. From Scotland, With Love

Tabitha: Do you know what your favorite Roy boy is up to rn? 

Naomi: _Seen. 8:02 p.m._

Tabitha: 🙈 👀 😂

Naomi: I plead the fifth

Tabitha: No! You knew!!? 

Naomi: Unfortunately 

Naomi: Just let him have this 

Tabitha: I think Roman’s having a stroke 

Tabitha: This is a GIFT. 

Tabitha: Can i tag you in my insta story?

Naomi: No thank u

Tabitha: Too late 😘 😘


	7. A Confession

Naomi still doesn’t know what happened between Kendall and his father after Shiv’s wedding — all she’s gotten out of Tabitha is that  _ something  _ happened that caused him to come to heel at Logan’s side. Blackmail? Ken’s vices are all pretty blasé in her opinion, unless he’s hiding some dead hookers in a closet somewhere. Maybe bribery, but he doesn’t act like a man awaiting a reward. 

She considers trying to get it out of him when they’re high, or he’s in one of his shittier moods, when he seems like he wants to give her an excuse to hate him. That’s when it seems to hang heaviest over him, an almost physical presence that’s impossible to ignore and almost definitely born from guilt. 

But she waits. She waits until they’re at her house one morning, a rare calm Saturday, and Kendall’s practically cheerful, by his standards, talking about what time he has to leave to get to Sophie’s soccer game. She hands him a cup of coffee and says, simply, “You need to tell me what happened.” 

He doesn’t ask her what she’s referring to, which she appreciates, but he doesn’t immediately say anything else either. He takes her hand, the one that was holding the coffee mug, and holds it, strokes his thumb over the back of her knuckles. He looks crushed. 

“I really can’t,” he whispers. “I wish I could. I really do, Naomi.” 

“I love you, Ken,” she says, and it’s true, and this is the first time she’s said it to him, “but you need to let me in. I need to know what happened.” 

His face crumples up and he squeezes her hand. 

“Did someone get hurt?” She’s careful to couch the question in passive language, even though this feels likeliest to her.

He sets the mug down on the counter and looks blankly around the room. “Can we sit down?” 

“Yeah.” 

They move from the kitchen to the living room. She sits near him on the couch, cross legged and facing him. He stares straight ahead. 

“There was an accident. It was an accident, but I—” the words rush out before he stops to collect himself. He takes a deep breath. He turns to her, reaches out to put a hand on her leg. “I love you too,” he says, quietly. “I trust you. And, I think, I know, you’re definitely a better person than I am. So, once I tell you, it’s yours. You can decide what you need to do with it. And — I’m going to leave, I think. I think you’ll want me to go.” 

And then he tells her everything, starting not with the accident but back further, to the wedding, the bear hug, his relapse, the vote of no confidence, Logan’s stroke, everything that led up to him getting in that car. And everything that happened after. 

By the end of it he’s hunched in on himself, looking away from her again. They’re both crying. She tried to keep her face neutral while he talked, and now she thinks carefully about what to say. She takes too long, he starts to stand up, and she has to thrust out a hand to stop him. 

“I don’t want you to leave, Ken.” 

He sits down, but he covers his face with his hands. 

“You fucked up, but you didn’t kill that boy. He chose to get into that car, and you couldn’t have saved him.” 

“You can’t know — I shouldn’t have left. I ran away, and I kept running. I tried to —” he cuts himself off with a sharp shake of his head. 

“Maybe if you hadn’t met him, he’d have driven himself home and still crashed. You can’t know either.” He doesn’t say anything in response, she can tell this is a thought process he’s already gone through and rejected. She wipes her eyes, tries not to linger on thoughts of her own car accidents, how many times she’s gotten lucky when she didn’t deserve to. 

Naomi decides to be practical. She smooths her hands over her lap before leaning forward to place a hand on his forearm. “Your father will never let this come out.” She squeezes his arm when he gives her a skeptical look. “He won’t. It would ruin him. You would just be… collateral damage. So, what do you need to do to move on?” 


	8. Bro Time

Kendall leans against the railing and looks down over the lower deck. Naomi is laughing with Greg in the pool, both of them lying on bright pink tubes. Kendall thought it would help, having her here, make this feel less like a death cruise. And it has, but he regrets asking her to come. She doesn’t deserve to be the buffer between him and reality. 

“You know she and Tabs used to mess around, right?” Roman asks, suddenly standing next to him. Kendall didn’t hear him walk up. He’s been quieter than usual, which is maybe to be expected after being held hostage for a few days. Kendall feels shitty about that too. Not only did he get them all into this fucking mess, it could have ended with his brother’s brains on the walls of a hotel lobby.

“Uh huh, yeah, so?” Kendall says. He can tell Roman is fishing for something here, but he’s not sure what it is.

Roman fidgets, leans far over the railing. “Just saying. I mean, they hang out a lot. Without us. Don’t you ever wonder if…?” 

Kendall chuckles. “Someone’s insecure. You worried Tabitha’s not satisfied?” 

“Fuck you, man. I didn’t say I was _worried._ ” He is obviously worried. “I don’t give a shit if they’re screwing each other’s brains out every weekend, monogamy is — it’s a fucking joke.” 

Kendall takes a long sip of his rosé to cover the fact that he’s trying to sift through the bullshit spewing out of Roman’s mouth to find the nuggets of truth. He refrains from commenting on Tabitha’s very noticeable absence. “You’re the one who brought it up,” he says. 

“I didn’t bring up —,” Roman cuts himself off, groans, then seems to reset. He drums his hands on the railing. “So are you going to like, marry her or what?” 

“What?”

Roman gestures to the water, where Naomi is splashing away from Greg, who’s stretching out his foot in her direction. “You know, get a hot young second wife and have a cliche midlife crisis or whatever? Start collecting hunting trophies or stamps or racist haunted dolls?” 

“She’s two years younger than me,” Kendall says, drily. 

“So you _are_ going to marry her.” 

“No? Uh, I mean, I don’t know. Probably not. Why do you care all of a sudden?” 

“She turned me down once. Tabs. How the fuck are you going to get married _twice_ , when I get turned down again and again. Me, this,” he circles his own face with his pointer finger, “versus, bleh, that,” he points to Kendall’s. 

Kendall is baffled. He’s never once heard Roman talk seriously about getting married, even though he’s had a string of long-term relationships. Not that any of them seemed very functional from an outside perspective. He laughs at him. “How many people are you proposing to, Rome? You working through a roster? Or is it more of, uh, like, a bracket system?” 

“Hey, fuck you.” Roman glares at him. He actually looks hurt. 

“What?” Kendall asks. He’s used to whiplash in conversations with Roman, but he’s barely even following this one. 

“You don’t have to be a dick about it.” 

Roman walks away, heading down the stairs. Kendall calls after him. “What? Dude, what did I say? Rome, c’mon!” 

Roman flips him off. 


	9. The Stewy Problem (Part 2)

It’s not the longest dinner she’s ever experienced, but it feels like it. She takes careful sips from her martini and resists glancing at her watch. She hadn’t been sure how to brace herself for it, for meeting her sort-of boyfriend’s ex-best frenemy at their reconciliation dinner. It seems like they didn’t know what to expect either. They spend the first 20 minutes or so talking in circles, giving each other shit for the shit they said about each other on tv, laughing too seriously about dirty lawyers. Almost everything is couched in humor and laced with anger.

Stewy all but ignores her after their initial greeting, barely turning his head in her direction, even when Kendall prompts her on something in an attempt to bring her into the conversation. She doesn’t mind; it makes it easier for her to watch him, read his body language. Tabitha did recon even though Naomi asked her not to, filled her in on all things Stewy Hosseini as filtered through their gilded grapevine. Well connected, but not especially close to anyone. Not especially well liked. Never ending string of short-term relationships with both men and women, primarily models, though there was a Spanish art dealer that stuck around for more than a year. There was also an unfortunate mutual ex, Sonia Jedynak, whom Naomi dabbled with at the same time she was dabbling with opioids. Other than Roman calling them  _ “fraternity brothers” _ in an insinuating voice, no hard evidence he and Kendall were ever anything but friends. But there is obviously something between them, and she only becomes more certain of it with every passing minute. 

Stewy is more defensive than Kendall, keeps his arms tucked close to his torso, rolls his eyes when Kendall tries to get nostalgic. He’s hurt, she thinks. Kendall said it was all business, between them, but this reads as personal, almost like something she shouldn’t be seeing. She’s not sure if Kendall realizes this. She’s watched him have a lot of similar conversations recently, him having betrayed nearly everyone in his life one way or another in the last year, and so far he’s just going through the motions. But, he must. If she can see it, so can he. 

Their conversation is interrupted by the waiter refreshing their drinks and asking if they’re ready to order. Kendall waits for Stewy to say what he’s having and then chooses the same entree for himself, a shared joke there somewhere, it seems, but it doesn’t get more than a grimace out of Stewy. The waiter walks away and they are left in awkward silence. She waits for one of them to throw out another barb, restart the verbal tennis match, but then Kendall leans across the table. He clasps Stewy’s forearm. 

“I’m sorry about everything, Stew. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I am.” He says this low enough that Naomi almost can’t make it out over the background noise of the restaurant. 

Stewy looks at him, frowning. He covers Kendall’s hand with his own. 

Naomi stands abruptly, surprising herself. Her chair makes a scraping sound against the floor and both men look at her. She squeezes Kendall’s shoulder briefly as she walks away. “Back in a few,” she says. 

She smokes a cigarette on the street. She can see their table through the restaurant window, watches them out of the corner of her eye even as she tries not to. It looks like an actual argument has broken out between them. Stewy is pointing a finger in Kendall’s direction. She decides to walk around the block, taking her time. 

As she makes her way back through the restaurant she hears Stewy laugh — a real laugh this time, she thinks, almost a giggle. There’s food on the table when she sits down and Kendall is smiling mischievously. He’s holding an iPhone, which he passes to her when she raises an eyebrow at him. She taps the screen and sees a photo of their waiter and — presumably — his girlfriend on the lock screen. 

“You’re such a child,” she tells Kendall, some annoyance creeping into her voice, because for every time he successfully pickpockets someone there are two other times he’s awkwardly caught. She flags down the waiter, tells him she found the phone on the floor. He thanks her profusely as Stewy rolls his eyes. 

“You know I wasn’t going to keep it,” Kendall complains. 

“Uh huh, tell that to your top left dresser drawer.” 

Stewy looks delighted by that bit of information. He pushes up his sleeve and turns his watch out to face Kendall. “Remember this one?” he asks, tapping the watch. She can’t see details from across the table, but it’s bulky, flashier than anything Kendall would wear. 

Kendall leans forward and mumbles, “oh shit.” He pulls Stewy’s hand closer. “How could I forget that monstrosity? I can’t believe you still wear it.” He turns to Naomi to explain, proudly, “right off the Dean’s wrist.” 

“Special occasions only, dude. And alumni events.” 

“Fuck off, you do not.” 

Stewy does that high pitched laugh again and Kendall joins him. She’s relieved that the atmosphere has thawed between them, even if she’s still left out in the cold.

  
  


Stewy orders dessert, so she follows suit. Vanilla gelato with cherry compote for them both. Kendall orders a vodka tonic. As they’re eating, he excuses himself to go to the restroom. Stewy finally deigns to give her his attention. 

“I was proud of him, you know, when it happened. Fucked up my shit like a nuclear fucking bomb, but, still. I always knew he had it in him.” 

This feels like a test, Stewy slipping back into the protective best friend role. Naomi answers honestly. “So was I. And I didn’t know, but I hoped.” 

He studies her for a moment. “You,” he declares, leaning back in his chair, “really are exactly his type.” 

She has to stop herself from rolling her eyes. “Well, you would know.” 

“Oh, did he tell you how he and Rava met? You know, he never once thanked me for that.” 

“No. That’s not what I’m referring to.” 

Stewy gives her a quick, sharp smile, all teeth. She moves cherries around her plate with her spoon. “Rava didn’t share, did she?” she says. 

“I can’t say it ever occurred to me to ask her permission.” 

“All the same, she didn’t approve. So neither did he, right?” Stewy’s face goes neutral, which means she’s correct. She lowers her voice and tries to convey her sincerity. “Hey. I get it. You’re upset that he brought me.” Stewy inclines his head, and she continues, thinking of Sonia, “And you think I’m a bad influence on him.”

Stewy hums and says, with surprising candor, “I’m not really one to talk.” 

Naomi cocks her head to the side. “You know, we have an open relationship. Technically. More on my part than his. Maybe our bad influences could cancel each other out.” 

Stewy doesn’t respond, just drums his fingers on the table. 

Kendall returns before she can say anything else. Naomi smiles at him. “We were just talking summer plans,” she explains, then turns back to Stewy, “We’re going to be at my place in Maine for a few weeks in August.” 

Stewy rolls with the fake conversation and lifts his glass toward Kendall. “Bonne chance with the mosquitos.” 

“You’re welcome to join us. Plenty of room,” she says. 

Kendall looks between them and laughs. “Stewy doesn’t really  _ do _ the woods, Nay.” 

Stewy narrows his eyes as he looks at her, accepting the dare. “I could probably tolerate a day or two.” 

  
  
  


They part ways in front of the restaurant. Kendall initiates a hug, Stewy slaps him on the back and kisses him on the cheek. “Good to have you back in the land of the living, Ken,” he says. He turns to Naomi and bows at the waist. “And good to meet you, Ms. Pierce.” 

  
  
  


Kendall slips his arm around her as they walk to the waiting car. “What was that about? Did you really invite him on our vacation?” he asks.    


“Ken, he spent the whole dinner marking his territory. I can’t compete with that.” 

“I didn’t — Fuck, I can tell him to back off…?” 

Naomi laughs as she slides into the back of the car. “No, I mean, it’s obvious how important you are to each other. I don’t want to get between you two.”

Kendall suddenly looks panicked as he fumbles with his seatbelt. “Sorry. Sorry, it’s just been a long time since I’ve seen him, and you know we had some shit to work out — I told you he can be kind of a prick, but —” 

She holds up a hand to stop him, losing some patience after the long night. “Hey. Ken. It’s fine. I’m glad you asked me to be there. You’ve been trying to pick up the pieces; I think he's an important one. Honestly, I don’t care if you just want to fuck him, or if it’s… more than that. We can figure it out.” 

Kendall goes rigid. He turns his head to look out the window. That was too much at once, and she feels a little bad for throwing it all out there. She takes his hand. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize… I’m just saying, whatever it is, whatever you want it to be, it’s okay.” 

He exhales slowly, shaking his head. “It’s fine. Um. I guess. You’re right. But that was a long time ago. And we never, uh, we never said those words, exactly.” 

“Which words?” 

“Any of them.” He manages a huff of laughter. “What’s the catch?” 

Naomi shrugs. “This isn’t a negotiation, Ken. There’s no catch. You can figure out what you want. I’m happy to be involved, or if you’d rather keep him to yourself that’s fine.”

Kendall’s quiet for a while, staring out the window again. He strokes his thumb across the back of her hand. He looks back at her and the corner of his mouth quirks up. “You haven’t seen him without a cell signal.” 

“I think we can keep him entertained.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will there be a part 3? Perhaps.


	10. 911

Things are stable until they aren’t. 

Kendall is blindsided by seeing his father in the courtroom, even though they knew it was coming for months. They don’t even make it home, afterward. They stop at a bar to unwind, just a little stress relief, something to blow off the family shit, the potential prison time that everyone knows won’t really happen. Two drinks, max. But it’s so easy to give in to it with him, one drink after another and one line after another, place to place, party to party, hour to hour, until she realizes most of the weekend’s gone by and she hasn’t even showered. She drags him back to his place and they order some food, which sobers her up some but Kendall doesn’t touch it. He’s popping pills from an unlabeled bottle. She can’t remember what they are or where he picked them up. She doesn’t ask. She’s too tired. Kendall wants to go somewhere else now but she can barely stand. He’s talking so much, he won’t stop talking, she wants to hit him with something. She doesn’t know how to tell him to shut up. She screams at him and he looks at her in alarm and then starts talking some more. She slams the bedroom door in his face. She falls asleep with her shoes still on. 

  
Someone shakes her awake. She’s disoriented. It’s pitch black in the room. She pushes the hand away. 

“I told you I’m fucking tired,” she mumbles, still half-asleep. 

“Um,” the person says. The person isn’t Kendall. She jolts upright and scrambles for the light. The sudden brightness almost hurts. 

“Fuck, Greg? What the fuck?” she asks. 

“Sorry!” he says. 

“Why the fuck are you here?” 

“Um, there’s uh — I thnk-theres-uh-prolem?” Greg slurs. 

“What?” There’s a fog in her brain she can’t clear, she’s still stuck at the absurdity of Greg Hirsch being in her bedroom in the middle of the fucking night. 

He rubs his face. He’s trashed, she realizes. He’s swaying on his feet. “Uhh Kendall? I think we need to call — is there a — is there like uhhhhhh a special number? For you — uh for, us?” 

“Greg. What. Happened.” she demands. 

He flings his hands up in an exaggerated shrug. “Somthin’bad?” he says, like he’s asking her. 

Her heart rate skyrockets. She gets out of bed and pushes him toward the door. He stumbles as he leads her down the hallway. 

“Yeah I dunno he just, like,” he points over to the couch, and when Naomi steps around the corner she can see Kendall sitting there, slumped over. 

“Shit!” She runs to him, tries to shake him awake, tries to feel for a pulse. “Fucking 9-1-1, Greg! 911 is who you call. Shit! Shit!” 

She turns and Greg is holding out a phone to her like he doesn’t know what to do with it. 

  
  


It doesn’t go well, at the hospital. She’s not his next of kin. She sits in a waiting room for four hours and gets no information out of the staff. Roman’s kind enough not to smile when he delivers a message from Rava that she is asked, with all due respect, to fuck off. 


	11. Cleaning Up

It’s been two months — exactly to the day — since she’s heard from him. She almost rejects his call when his name pops up on her phone. 

“Naomi? Are you there?” 

“Yeah. I’m here.” 

“Hey. It’s good — it’s good to hear your voice. I missed you.” 

“Okay. You’re welcome, I guess.” She doesn’t bother hiding her anger. 

“You know I didn’t have my phone. I asked them to…” He trails off. “Did you get my letter?” 

“I don’t need your therapy-mandated bullshit, Ken.” 

He sighs. “It wasn’t all bullshit. I wish I could see you.” 

“You know where I live.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“You think I can’t sober up? I’ve done it before.” 

“Uh huh. How many times?” 

“Well, fuck you too.” 

He’s quiet for a while. “I can’t do it to them again, Naomi.”

She gets it. She really does, but she’s pissed — maybe more at herself than him. “So that’s it? You don’t even want to try?” 

“Do you?” 

It’s a genuine question, not an accusation. She doesn’t trust herself to respond without giving away the fact that she’s started crying. She wipes her eyes and takes a deep breath. 

“Naomi?” 

She sniffles despite her best efforts, then chokes out a laugh at herself. “Yeah. I do, actually,” she says. 


	12. Midnight

“I can’t believe Roman’s my fucking babysitter tonight,” Kendall says to her, unpacking the snacks the kids’ nanny packed for them and putting things in the fridge. “And, what is this?” he points to a sticky note on a package of non-dairy string cheese that says “Iverson” on it, “What, like, I don’t know what my own kids can eat? They aren’t fucking exotic pets.” 

He’s been fretting like this for days. Naomi pats him on the cheek. “It’ll be fine, Ken. They’re excited to be here. Just relax.” 

It’s a test run, though no one’s really admitted it. Kendall hasn’t seen much of his kids since he got out of treatment — no overnights, no holidays. Things weren’t helped by the fact that Sophie refused to speak to him for a few weeks and Rava half-blamed Naomi for his overdose. But, after many, many assurances that everyone would be on their best behavior and in bed by 10pm, they have them for New Year’s Eve and through the weekend. They’re also hosting Roman for dinner and Kendall suspects he’s acting as a covert chaperone. Naomi doesn’t think Rava actually put him up to it, but she wouldn’t blame her if she did. 

For some reason, Kendall’s relationship with Roman didn’t implode like it did with most of his family members. Not to say that they aren’t on opposing sides — Roman is still COO, and as far as she knows he’s still close with Logan — but aside from a few barbed comments, they tend to dance around the business and family stuff in conversation. Maybe Roman just had less skin in the game than Shiv, who still blames Kendall for her career, credibility, and marriage being shot to hell. In any case, she knows despite the complaining he’s looking forward to dinner tonight. 

Sophie runs into the kitchen carrying a sparkly dress she must have found on her bed. “Is this  _ mine _ ?” she asks, bursting with excitement. Naomi had promised her they could dress up for dinner together, sent her a picture of the face glitter set she bought, but they kept the new outfit a surprise. 

“Oh no, I meant to put that in Iver’s room, actually.” 

“Daaaaaad,” she whines. 

“Of course it’s yours. Is it —” he seems suddenly unsure, “Do you like it?”

“Yes! Thank you!” she hugs him with such force that he steps back to catch himself. He kisses the top of her head and looks up at Naomi. She gives him a thumbs up. 

Sophie turns to look at her. “Can we get ready right now?”    
  


At this point, she’s used to curveballs at Roy family dinners. She knows how to roll with the punches. But seeing Gerri Kellman, CEO of Waystar Royco, taking her coat off in their foyer still manages to throw her for a loop. 

Roman is thrusting a bottle into her hands. It’s some pre-made nonalcoholic cocktail with a French portmanteau on the label. At least it looks carbonated. “What is this?” she asks. “Worried we were going to serve you the kids’ sparkling juice?” 

“Fuck if I know. She made me buy it.” Roman turns to Kendall to give him a hug. 

“You look good, Rome,” Kendall says. 

“You look like a goat’s nutsack gained sentience. I mean,” he switches to a silly voice, “Thanks, good to see you too, big bro.” He holds up a bag bursting with cheap New Year’s party favors. “Where are the little goblins?”

Kendall seems unfazed by Gerri’s presence and Roman’s antics. “Wreaking havoc with balloons in the living room. Gerri, nice to see you.” 

Gerri smiles. “Kendall. It’s been a long time.” She raises an eyebrow at Naomi, taking in the nine-year-old-approved makeup and accessories, including the glitter on her face and arms (and hair and dress and virtually everywhere else). “I feel underdressed.” 

Naomi laughs. “Well, my stylist is in attendance and she would be  _ all _ too happy to rectify that for you.” 

  
  


Roman and Gerri leave shortly after dinner. On their way to the door, Roman tosses out a comment about getting back to the nursing home that earns him a glare from Gerri. 

“You can just admit you have better things to do tonight than hang out with us,” Kendall says. 

“Oh believe me, I absolutely have  _ much _ better things to  _ do _ ,” Roman says with a smirk, which gets him an even sharper glare and a tug on the arm. “What?” he asks, innocently. 

  
  


The kids beg to stay up late and Kendall gives in, but they both fall asleep on the floor before midnight anyway. She watches him carry them one by one to their bedrooms as she brushes confetti off the furniture. Once they’re both tucked in, he comes back and collapses on the couch. She turns off the overhead lights so the fireworks going off on various rooftops light up the room. 

She climbs into his lap and lifts his head up from where it was tilted back on the couch. He looks exhausted. She kisses him. “Happy New Year. So far so good, huh?” He smiles and brushes some glitter off of her cheek. 

“Happy New Year,” he says, “I love you.” 

“You too.” She kisses him again and narrows her eyes suspiciously when she pulls away. “Did you know about them? Roman and Gerri?” 

He shrugs. “Rome’s never been as good at hiding shit as he thinks he is.” 

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” 

“Honestly, I thought you knew. Tabitha didn’t mention it?” 

She smacks him lightly in the chest. “Oh my God!  _ Tabitha  _ knows? I hate you both.” 

  
  


Naomi: ROMAN ROY LEFT YOU FOR HIS FATHER’S LEGAL COUNSEL? ? ? ? ??? 

Tabitha: hahahahaha yeah

Tabitha: it’s chill tho

Tabitha: Have they finally gone public?

Tabitha: Listen, he’s a dick. We are NOT speaking. 

Tabitha: But  🔥 🔥 tbh 


	13. L'enfer, c'est les autres

Kendall is familiar with being the least-liked person at the party, but the Pierces are so passive aggressive about these things. Like, the more polite they are the more they probably hate him. It stresses him out a hell of a lot more than a screaming match or someone throwing a plate at his head would. 

Naomi was called up to Tern Haven for a family vote on something — she didn't offer details, he didn't ask — and he offered to join her. He figures she's spent enough hours putting up with his family, and if they're going to make this work, make this real, it’s past time he starts returning the favor. 

It’s strange and sort of overwhelming, being back here. It feels like a lifetime ago that he was sitting at this dinner table for the first time. He remembers his first conversation with Naomi, looking at her from the bottom of so much despair. And he can’t help but think about Shiv that night, jumping the gun and embarrassing their father. She went all in and ended up with a steaming pile of shit in return, just like he had. He misses her. It doesn’t seem possible to fix things between them. He pushes the thought out of his mind. 

The portly man sitting across from him, Martin, Naomi’s uncle, or cousin, maybe, asks him a question about Existentialism that goes over his head. He tries to answer in a way that doesn’t make him sound like an uncultured asshole, then regrets it because Martin continues the conversation by asking if he’s particularly interested in anyone’s work in that era. 

He feels Naomi set her hand on his thigh. _Oh._ He shifts, grips his fork a little tighter. She’s turned away from him, having a separate conversation and laughing at something. 

“Uhhh…” He did take a philosophy course in undergrad, but fuck him if any of the reading ever sunk in. He says the first name that pops into his head. “Right, uh, Sartre?” 

Naomi’s hand moves a little higher on his leg. 

“Ah, _Sart_ ,” Martin says. That’s not how it’s pronounced, Kendall’s sure. Let it be known that the series of hot French au pairs he had in middle school was not for nothing. “The best philosophers were always ugly sons of bitches, why do you think that is?” 

“L'enfer, c'est les autres,” Kendall says, managing a slight shrug, "especially if you're an ugly bastard." This gets a laugh out of Martin. 

“Afraid I specialized in the Germans, myself. Heidegger, specifically.” Martin keeps talking but Kendall loses focus. Naomi’s hand is fully stroking his dick through his pants now and it’s all he can do to keep a straight face. He stares across the table at Martin, who is stabbing at air with his finger, emphasizing a point — is he talking about fucking Nazis right now? Kendall nods and hopes he isn’t agreeing to war crimes or something. He takes a drink of water to buy himself some time to respond and chokes on it when Naomi starts tugging his fly down. 

At the head of the table, Nan claps her hands. “Who wants to help me bring in dessert?” There are at least eight kitchen staff that Kendall’s seen ferrying dishes in and out of the dining room, so he braces himself for — “Kendall?” 

Naomi pulls her hand away. He grasps for an excuse not to stand up at the moment and ends up just gaping like an idiot.

"We — um — I'm not —" 

Naomi pushes her chair back. “Oh, he and Martin are in the middle of excavating Plato’s Cave. I can help, Nan.” 

Two hours later, Naomi is pressing him against the wall in their room, kissing his jawline. “You did ok out there tonight,” she says. Her voice is quiet and low and he’s so turned on he feels like he could pass out. He’s short of breath, has been since dinner. 

“Yeah? Better than last time?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, that _was_ one of our more entertaining dinners...” She has one hand undoing his belt, the other gripping the back of his neck. 

“Roy family circus — always happy — to provide dinner and a show —” he lets out a groan when she gets a hand around his cock. 

“The walls are thin, you might remember. Let’s not traumatize poor Martin.” 

“Uh huh. Fucking — Martin — and his — fucking Nazis.” He swallows. “Naomi, you didn’t happen to bring…” 

She drops to her knees and smirks up at him. “Don’t worry, I came _very_ prepared.” 


	14. The Stewy Problem (Part 3)

Stewy inspects the photos on the wall as Naomi walks to the kitchen to get drinks. A four pack of beer sits untouched in the back of the fridge. Her fingers automatically wrap around the necks of two bottles. She lets go, starts again. She plucks one out, then opens the beverage drawer to get two of the nonalcoholic beers rolling around loose amongst seltzers and packaged smoothies. She pulls out a bottle opener, tosses the cap in the trash, and makes a plan to smash the leftover bottles against the side of the sink tomorrow morning. 

“You’re fucking old,” she hears Stewy say to Kendall. Kendall turned 41 yesterday. He didn’t want to celebrate, but he acquiesced to dinner and she knows he was not-so-secretly delighted to be surprised by Stewy at the restaurant. 

“Uh, _we’re_ old, dude.” 

She rejoins them, passes the bottle to Stewy and the can to Kendall. She pulls the tab on her own fake beer. “Cheers to that,” she says. 

  
  
  
  


Naomi puts her head on Kendall’s lap, one leg bent on the couch and the other foot planted on the floor. She’s wearing pants, there’s nothing obscene about her knees tilting apart, but she thinks the message is clear enough. She watches Stewy down the rest of his beer. He sets it down with a clank on the side table, then leans forward, interested, elbows on his knees. “Is that a hint?” he asks. 

She reaches up to hold Kendall’s face in her hands, tugs him down toward her. “I don’t know. Ken, what is this?” 

Kendall clears his throat and looks at Stewy. She traces his bottom lip with a finger as he forms the words. “I think it’s an invitation.” 

  
  
  


Stewy kisses him first, leaning over her, and oh, it is something to watch. Stewy grips Kendall’s jaw hard enough that it looks like it hurts, then there’s a pink flash of tongue and she can feel Kendall sigh into it as they move closer together. She’s never seen Stewy like this, but then, she’s never seen them together. It’s just that usually she’s impressed — annoyed, even — by his restraint, as she is with anyone else who manages to walk through the world like it doesn’t impress them much, who doesn’t wear abject hunger on their sleeve like she knows she and Kendall do. It’s satisfying to see that need is in him, too, somewhere. Just this side of desperate, he straddles Kendall’s other leg, his knee bumping into the top of her head. 

When he pulls away the men smile at each other — until one of them has to break the tension. 

“You still the world’s laziest fuck?” Kendall asks. 

Stewy puts a hand over his heart. “Wow, hurtful. I don’t remember you complaining, bitch.” 

“Guess I was too busy trying to get both of us off.” 

Stewy drops his voice low. “Your girl’s gonna come on my mouth and _you_ are gonna come on my cock. Ambitious enough for the birthday boy?” 

Kendall grabs a fistful of his shirt and yanks him back into a kiss. 

  
  
  


Stewy starts unbuttoning his shirt and she follows suit, pulling her shirt over her head and taking her bra off before she lies back against Kendall’s thigh. Kendall slides one hand into her hair and the other roams her torso, drawing a line down her sternum, cupping a breast, covering her ribs. Stewy tugs down her pants, then kneels on the couch between her legs. He takes a moment to admire the view before leaning forward to kiss her. There’s that laziness, she thinks — pleasure for pleasure’s sake. It’s good, but it’s like he’s indulging her. She runs her hands across the smooth skin of his upper back, feels muscles move under her fingertips. He works his way down her torso, mouth hot against her, beard prickling her skin. He moves Kendall’s hand from where it rested on her ribs to cover the breast he just had his mouth on. He slips two fingers under her panties. 

“You mind?” he asks, a little vial of coke appearing in his other hand as if out of thin air. 

“You’re fucking obnoxious,” Kendall says. She only spreads her legs a little wider. 

“Sorry some of us haven’t grown up,” Stewy says, entirely unapologetic. He taps out a line on her abdomen, teasing her with sly strokes of his fingers as he does it. Kendall’s grip tightens — she gasps as his fingers dig into her scalp. Stewy snorts the line and then licks the residue off her skin, smiling up at Kendall with his tongue pressed flat against her. 

  
  
  


Kendall’s hand repeatedly clutches at and slips from her hip as Stewy fucks him from behind. They face each other on their sides. There is not much space between them, but still she doesn’t touch him, except for where he’s trying to get a hold on her. She covers his hand with hers, presses it tight against her hip bone and holds it steady as he jolts toward her with each thrust. 

Stewy has an arm wrapped around him, fingers splayed across his chest. He’s chatty, alternating between dragging his teeth along Kendall’s neck and shoulder and whispering filthy shit in his ear. He touches his cock only occasionally, just enough to keep Kendall incoherent. 

“Look at her. She knew how bad you needed this, huh?" 

Kendall nods frantically, the same way he’s been agreeing with everything Stewy says, begging and babbling assurances, promises. Stewy licks the shell of his ear. “What do you say?” 

“Thank you thank you thank you please," Kendall gasps. 

“Please what?”

“Fuck you can I fucking come — please — Stewy — please God fuck can I fucking come please?” 

  
  
  


Stewy and Naomi share a cigarette while Kendall’s in the shower. 

“He loves you, you know,” she says, as she passes the cigarette back to him. 

Stewy snorts. “No. But I am one of his favorite toys. And that’s almost the same thing for them.” 

The comment stings. She doesn’t know if she’s hurt on behalf of Kendall or Stewy or herself. “I think you’re wrong,” she protests. 

He looks at her with a flash of disdain. “30 years in and you think I don’t know exactly how he feels?” 

She doesn’t have anything to say to that. He stubs the cigarette out directly on the bedside table. He gets out of bed, stretches, and scoops up his discarded clothes from the floor. His shirt and jacket are still somewhere in the living room, she thinks, but he walks over to Kendall’s dresser and pulls out clean socks and a t-shirt like it’s second nature to him. He redresses efficiently without speaking to her. When he’s done he looks in the mirror and runs a hand through his hair. 

The bathroom door opens and Kendall steps back into the room. Stewy catches his eye in the mirror. 

Kendall laughs. “What are you still doing here?” 

Stewy flips him off. He turns to give her a little salute. “Night night,” he says, lightly. “I’ll see myself out.” 

  
  
  


“He could have stayed,” she says, as Kendall climbs into bed. 

He chuckles as he snakes an arm around her waist and pulls her against his chest. He kisses the back of her neck. “He’s never been much of a cuddler.” 

She wriggles out of his grip. “Kendall.”

“What? What’s wrong?” 

“Have you ever asked him to stay?” 

“Ask him to _stay_?” Kendall clearly finds the concept ludicrous. “I don’t — we never — Naomi, we’ve never been _together._ He doesn’t want — it’s not like that, for him. Trust me.” 

She blinks at him. “You’re both idiots,” she says. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kendall loves surprises as much as Logan hates them.


	15. Norman Fucking Rockwell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: there's a very brief mention of a suicide attempt towards the end

Kendall gets home later than he planned. Home: his home, their home. New enough that it still feels a little like breaking and entering when he turns the key, as if the landscaper didn’t just greet him by name as he walked up the path, as if he doesn’t remember the palate of off-white paint samples Naomi made him choose between for the trim around the door. Anyway, he’s late and he hopes she just went to dinner without him because he’s really not up for socializing tonight. He says as much out loud as he walks through the entryway, calls her name out in the quiet house and doesn’t expect an answer. 

“In here,” Naomi responds, from what sounds like the dining room. Maybe she cancelled the reservations all together? He drops his coat on a stack of yet-to-be-unpacked boxes in front of the coat closet and heads her way. It’s not quite an open concept layout — the dining room and kitchen are mostly separated by a wall, though no door hangs in the archway between them. For that reason it’s not until he’s there, one foot halfway into the dining room, that he sees them and stops dead in his tracks. 

His sister is sitting at the head of the table, her hands wrapped around a mug. Naomi is sitting next to her, awkwardly straight backed in her chair. He stands dumbly in the archway. They both look at him. 

“Shiv.” 

“Hey.” 

Naomi stands up carefully and walks to him. She gives his arm a brief squeeze as she moves past and whispers, “I’ll be upstairs.” 

He desperately wants her to stay, to tell him exactly what to say to not irrevocably fuck this up. But he can hear the stairs creak as she retreats. He immediately says something stupid to test the waters. “Housewarming party’s actually not until next week.” 

“Yeah. Congratulations, or whatever. I wasn’t expecting…” 

He steps fully into the room to stand at the other end of the table. “What?” 

Shiv waves her hand around the room. “It’s very Norman fucking Rockwell in here. You’ve gone fucking domestic.” 

“We wanted a change,” he says. It’s true enough. He hasn’t seen her in, what, a year? How long has it been since they’ve had a conversation? He can’t even remember, but she looks different — her hair is longer and there’s something about her face… 

“Uh huh. And you decided to buy your curtains out of an American Girl doll catalogue?” 

“It’s closer to the kids. And it’s a — a compromise. I guess.” He doesn’t know why he’s even bringing this up, he doesn’t need to explain anything to her. “Naomi won’t marry me, but —” 

“But she’ll put up with your shit taste in art?” 

Kendall manages a small smile. “Snob. You didn’t come here to pick a fight with the decorator, Shiv.” 

Shiv shifts uncomfortably, looks away from him. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “My husband,” funny way to say Tom, he thinks, “is going to fucking prison because of you.” 

Kendall grips the back of the dining chair in front of him. “Do I need to call my lawyer for this conversation?” 

Shiv sighs. She looks tired, he realizes, that’s what’s different about her. She looks worn down. “Kendall, that’s not why I’m here. Not — not really.” 

“Okay.” 

“I wanted to…” she pauses again. The silence stretches out so long his fingers start to hurt from how he’s squeezing the chair. “Apologize. I guess.” 

Kendall has never been more surprised in his entire fucking life. He starts to open his mouth and she holds up a hand to stop him. 

“You did the right thing, I guess. I still think you did it in the most selfish, fucked up way possible, to be clear. But honestly I… mostly I wish it would have been me.” She drops her gaze, smooths her palms over the table. “There’s no end to it, with Dad, especially now — I mean, you know. I’m not in, I’m not out, I’m just stuck in limbo. Bullshit corporate purgatory. I’m fucking miserable, Ken, and I don’t know what the fuck to do about it.” 

“I really am sorry about Tom, Shiv.” He’s pretty sure his legal team would send flowers to Tom if they could. He so thoroughly incriminated himself on the stand — repeatedly — it made Kendall look like a bit player in the whole thing. 

“Fuck Tom,” she says, immediately, and then covers her face with her hands. “I love him. I really do fucking love him and I should never have married him.” 

“Are you… asking for my advice?” 

Shiv laughs in a sad way. That she’s barely trying to hide her tiredness and sadness is maybe the most unsettling thing about this entire conversation. “I haven’t even gotten to the best part.” 

He’s wary now, still doesn’t — won’t ever? — trust her, as shitty as he feels about that. “What?” he asks. 

She stands and gestures to her stomach. Her sweater stretches over an obvious bump. “Another one of my bad ideas,” she says. 

“Oh.”

“ _Oh,”_ she mimics him, her voice dropping cartoonishly low, but the teasing lacks both sting and humor. 

“Siobhan,” he says. “Come here.” But she doesn’t move and he goes to her instead, wraps her in a hug that she only fights briefly. He’s blinking back tears when she pulls away, and when she sees his face she bursts into tears too. There’s a Kleenex box on the sideboard that he hands to her as she sits back down. She swats at his hand, but takes a tissue to wipe at her eyes. 

“Oh, fuck off, it’s just the hormones.” 

“I’m happy for you,” Kendall says, because that’s what you say. 

Shiv huffs out a laugh. “That makes one of us.” 

“He’ll be fine, Shiv. It’s only, what, a few months of prison time? A few weeks, in the end? I’m sure Dad and Gerri are making it worth his while, too.” 

“It doesn’t matter. It’s already over, between us. This was the last ditch effort to…” She clears her throat. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, again. He never really got the chance to apologize to her, before, because she moved directly from screaming at him to screening his calls. She makes no indication she accepts it now. The words hang in the air between them too long before Shiv speaks again. 

“I’m not doing all the Catholic bullshit, obviously, but,” Shiv waves a hand. She’s always done that, like she can scare the emotions away, “But, especially given the… circumstances. I think she could use godparents.” 

“Are you asking if I know anyone?” 

“Fuck you.”

“Shiv. This is — Really? Are you sure you want me? Us?”

“Connor and Willa already turned me down, so,” she smiles. “You’re a fuck up like the rest of us and I had to steal Roman’s phone to get your address. But you’re… I don’t know. Fuck, Kendall. You actually seem happy. Maybe you can help me not ruin her.” 

Tears well up again. He wants to assure her you can’t ruin a kid, but it’s like, look in a fucking mirror, dude. He used to hide in her nursery when he was five and she was tiny and their parents would get into drunken screaming matches. The first time he held his daughter he had to convince the social worker his nosebleed was from stress. He sure as hell doesn’t have any nuggets of paternal fucking wisdom to impart. His chest aches. He tries to catch his breath and a choked off sob escapes. 

“Ugh, God, don’t.” Shiv grabs another tissue from the box. 

He needs a minute to collect himself, doesn’t want Shiv to watch him break down. “Do you mind if…”

Shiv shrugs. She blows her nose. 

He tries to get a drink of water in the kitchen but ends up just filling the glass and pouring it out again. He goes looking for Naomi instead and finds her sitting on the top step of the staircase, waiting for him. 

He walks to the bottom of the stairs. His voice is hoarse. “You catch all that?”

Naomi smiles sympathetically. “The important bits, I think.” 

He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. “Nay, can you come here?” 

She walks down to stand on the bottom step. She wraps her arms around him and rests her chin on top of his head. He’s overwhelmed by how little he deserves any of this. The voice in his head shifts to resemble his father’s trademark growl and starts spinning a web of negative thoughts: 

_Tell Shiv to leave if she knows what’s good for her; Naomi sees you as some kind of emotional charity case and her interest is already waning; you’ve always failed to protect your siblings and now you’ve abandoned them altogether; traitor; you’ve never earned anything, never built anything, and you never will; your kids are better off for the time you haven’t spent with them; spoiled, ruined, weak; you don’t know how to love without an agenda; junkie; murderer; you can’t even off yourself right but suicide’s too good for you anyway; there’s a rot inside of you, you’ll never make good; pathetic fleck of fool’s gold; you’re nothing; you want to hear what people say when you leave the room?_

He bites his tongue and squeezes his eyes shut. 

“Oh, Ken.” Naomi rubs his back. “You know you can just let a good thing happen, right? You don’t need to fight every inch of happiness that comes your way.”

He shakes his head slightly. His nose is pressed into the hollow of her throat. “What if I do? I don’t deserve —” 

“Right. And I do?” He pulls back to argue and she hops down the final step to stand level with him. “Don’t,” she jabs a finger at his chest to stop him from interrupting. “Does Shiv deserve to be happy? Your brothers? Oh, tough one, how about Gerri? Does Stewy deserve nice things, you think? Maybe we should all move to our own desert islands and live off coconuts and raw seagull until we’ve adequately atoned for our sins.”

“Nay —” 

“Ken. Stop. We’re all going to live our lives, and you happen to be a part of them, so, don’t be an asshole about it.”

He sighs, no longer totally stuck in his head but still feeling weird about it all. The idea of being not just on speaking terms with his siblings but... having something approaching actual amiable relationships? Have they ever managed to have those? “Right. You’re right,” he tells her. 

She kisses him briefly. She takes his hand and tugs him back toward the dining room. “Come on. You know you’re going to have to be the normo uncle to balance out Roman and Connor’s influences, right?”

He laughs a little. “Oh shit. We’ve got our work cut out for us.” 

_“You_ do. Personally, I’m going full eccentric aunt. I’m getting cats. Maybe a parrot. Going to wear a lot of hats.” 

He squeezes her hand, thankful for the subtle confirmation that she’s not going anywhere anytime soon. “You look good in hats,” he says. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shiv's favorite American Girl is Felicity. And this is the last chapter (at least for now)!


End file.
